


illimitable dominion over all

by winterbones



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Weird Plot, except plot???, idk beats me, pkwp, porn kinda without plot, so au all the aus are jealous of it's au-ness, we just don't know, what is canon, what is this even, why are the horsemen here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterbones/pseuds/winterbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this was how she was laid low, a princess to queen to refugee to something far, far worse</p>
            </blockquote>





	illimitable dominion over all

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said. Even beneath the muffling silk that and cotton that covered her nose, the perfumed scent of the garden was intoxicating. Lavender and lilac, heady orchids and sweet tulips. She chose to spend most of her time out here, away from the balls and smell of smoke and machine and stone.

Her reflection winked at her from the opaque glass wall that surveyed the streets below, the delicate cheekbones of her mask inlayed with pearls and diamond. A teardrop amethyst dangled from each ivory lobe of the mask, brilliant multicolored peacock feathers danced along her hair line, ribbons knotted at the mask and woven into the tumble of her hair. Her mouth beneath the mask was unpainted and set in a dour line. Her gown was silk and satin, a gentle lavender that was washed out white beneath the dim burn of lights above her.

“Neither should you,” he pointed out, and curled a wayward wisp of hair around his finger. “There _is_ a party going on below your feet, isn’t there? I would think that one of the _Last Great Hopes_ ,” his lips curled in a mocking reproach, “would have required attendance.”

She had, and she had danced for hours on end, drowning out sorrows and grieves in the sound of music and the clink of champagne glasses. She hadn’t approved, at first, of the masquerade, but Queen Regina had been insisted.

 _“Yes,”_ she had sneered, _“we can see the Darkness on our borders, eating away our forests. It wants us to cower in our homes, whimper and weep over our fate. That’s what feeds it. So I say we dance, and show it that it cannot so easily extinguish life.”_

It wasn’t so easy for her. Even now the Darkness’s horsemen glutted themselves on her kingdom’s fares. Every time her eyes closed, she could see their suffering, hear their screams. But Queen Regina had offered her sanctuary, had put aside her violent feud with her stepdaughter, and made space for them in her walled up kingdom. It wasn’t as if she could say no.

In the murky reflection, he was nothing more than a lean line of darkness, from his black mask with its crooked nose to the impossibly dark leathers that covered his form. His dark hair was slicked back, a sheen of dark polish. A gloved finger rolled down her arm and she shivered, hating herself and hating him too.

She pressed her fingers to the glass, leaving smudges over her reflection.

“Any ball missing Her Serene Highness _L’aurore des sables_ is misfortunate indeed.”

His voice was enigmatically scornful, the very words jeering. She was nothing more than Aurora here, a girl with ashes in her hair and corpses for her people. They both knew that she was queen to a dead kingdom, had only escaped through the sacrifice of her husband. But she couldn’t think of Phillip. Not here, not now, not with him.

Because Phillip had died to make sure she was safely spirited away from the castle, but another had made sure she reached Queen Regina’s borders.

Her fingers curled into a tiny, pale fist on the glass. “Why are you here?”

“Perhaps I couldn’t stay away.” His finger moved upward again, toying with the edge of her hairline at her neck. After a moment’s pause, a warm, wide palm cupped the back of her neck. “You shine like a beacon, you know. You _glow_. Must be that hope and _true love_ nonsense everyone is convinced will save them. Perhaps I am naturally drawn to light.”

“So you can extinguish it.”

“You wound me.”

“If only.” Aurora shivered, lips parting softly, as his turned and nuzzled her hair. The pointed nose of his mask poked the top of her hair. “Stop that.”

He drew back, a rough laugh escaping him.

“I want to know how you got in.” The palace was supposedly secure, for now, but if he could slip in who was to say the others couldn’t.

“You of all people, princess—”

“ _Queen_ —”

“Your Grace—you of all people should know that there is no lock or door or barricade that can bar Death.” Another rumbling laugh. “Of the others, there are ways to defend. But Death— _I_ —am always on the invitation list.”

Aurora would have screamed. Her voice would not carry to the ball below, but there were guards posted just beyond the doors of the solar and would come running to her defense. But all they would do is die. Like he said, nothing could stop Death.

War, Famine, Conquest, and Death—the crowned kings of Darkness, sinners from humble beginnings, thieves and murderers and cowards alike that should have lived out their meager lives in obscurity. But Darkness on his throne of thorns raised them up, and made them monstrous gods among the mortals.

Conquest had been the one to come to her kingdom and tear it down, but it was Death who feasted there.

“If you’re going to kill me I wish you would.”

“Kill you?” He sounded honestly surprised. “Now why would I do that when you’re far infinitely more interesting alive?”

His fingers ghosted at the fabric on her hips, the pale silks and satins sighing at his touch, and even beneath the yards of fabric and petticoats she could the cool caresses of his skin.

“Before I was—this,” he said quietly, voice hushed like he was speaking mostly to himself, “I would not have been even allowed to look on Your Grace’s visage, guttersnipe that I was. And now—well _now_.”

He curled a hand around her neck and another shiver, unbidden, raced down her spine. She laid her palms flat against the glass, glaring at him through their reflection, mouth twisting into a harsh sneer.

“ _Aurora_ ,” he breathed, and leaned forward, pressing his plush mouth to her cheek, the mask’s nose brushing across hers. “I don’t like this either, you know. I certainly didn’t want—but here we are. A connection was made, wasn’t it? That day. You can’t deny it, anymore than I can.”

No, she couldn’t. With her kingdom in ruins and her husband dead, the only true connection she felt anymore was with him, their bond forged in terror and rage and grief, with blood on her hands and a laugh on his mouth.

_Her horse had been downed only miles from her palace. It was at least a day’s journey to the border of Queen Regina’s kingdom, and she would never make it. But Aurora couldn’t give up, wouldn’t simply lay down and allow herself to be conquered. Phillip had died to save her. She would fight tooth and nail for her life._

_Then the thunder of hooves—and then strong arms around her waist, lifting and lifting. She had been pressed to a strong, armored chest; the horse beneath her was broad and skeletal, and a sickly green. It had raced across the ground so fast her entire world blurred. She had only dared to look up once._

He had worn a mask then to, a flat, black disk that covered everything except his mouth. She wondered if he was deformed beneath it, skeletal like his horse had been, the only flesh piece of him left that sensual mouth he had used to steal a kiss from her as he had dropped her at the border.

_“Now run, little princess,” he and said, tongue wetting the seam of his bottom lip. Her lips were still tingling from his unwanted kiss. “And make this interesting.”_

“Tell me stop,” he said huskily, thumb sweeping over the ridges of her throat. “Tell me to beg my pardon and take my leave.”

“Would you?”

_“Yes.”_

Her stomach twisted. She should, everything inside her that was pure and good told her that she should. He had destroyed her kingdom, and been the cause of Phillip’s death—even if he had not been the one to swing the sword that found its place in his belly.

But he had been right. There was an explicable connection between them. If he was Death, and she was Life, then they were tied together, weren’t they? And she was alone, isolated here, her only ties to her old life was him—even if he had been the one to destroy it.

She tasted ashes in her mouth moments she before twisted her head and pressed her mouth to his. His mouth opened above her, the light grip on her hip turning harsh and possessive. The cool glass of the window pressed against her back as he turned her, the stays of her corset digging into her side.

He had to angle his head at an extreme degree to keep from her stabbing her with his mask’s nose, but was in no hurry to remove it. Aurora wasn’t either. With the masks on, this didn’t feel real. She was someone else. She wasn’t a queen, or a widow, maybe she wasn’t anything but a body yearning desperately for sensation.

His hands pushed upward, cupping her breasts through their prison of lace and whale bone. She groaned into his mouth, arching up so he could nibble at her neck.

“I’ve wanted this since—” His voice was a rasp, dragged out unwillingly. “I swear I tasted you on the wind, and I was drunk. I’ve always been a romantic fool, but even that was—was something beyond me.”

Aurora rolled her head back against the glass as he went down to his knees, shoving at her petticoats. She didn’t want to talk. The more they spoke the more likely this surreal haze would abate and she would have to face reality.

She clutched the voluminous folds of her dress when he pushed them into her limp hand, cool air touching stocking clad legs. He helped ease her out of her heels, sliding a cool palm up her thigh, kneading the delicate flesh. She bent over him, planting her free hand on his shoulder, a small sound escaping her. She felt, rather than saw, him push up his mask, the flounce of her skirt obscuring her view of his face. That was a boon, too.

His entire face had to be human then, because the forehead that pressed against the top of her thigh was flesh and oddly warm. Aurora felt the blood rush to her cheeks at the knowledge permeated through her that he had at one point been a man. But the sharp edge of desire kept her regret at bay.

There was nothing to protect the apex of her thighs from his mouth, and he took advantage, sliding his tongue through her slick folds. Her fingers moved to his hair, digging down until she could feel the give of his scalp. His thumb pressed to the ultra-sensitive bundle of nerves at the hood of her sex, rubbing, and she bit down on her tongue to lock out a cry, keenly aware of the guards just behind the doors.

His tongue slipped inside her, teasingly testing her resistance and she dropped the skirts so she could pressed her fisted hand to her teeth, biting down. Mewls escaped around it as he rubbed her, lapping her up with lewd slurping sounds. He was doing it on purpose, she knew, her flush working down the entire length of her body. She clenched around him, so very close to release, and felt his hot groan against her core.

Abruptly he stood, catching her as she tumbled forward, fumbling with the skirts of her gown until they were belted against her hips. She was mindless, her entire existence zeroed down into pleasure, and closed her arms around his neck, hopping up when he cupped the back of her thighs and lifted her, looping her legs around his hips.

The mask had slid back into place, his dark hair poking upward at sharp points, as he reached between them and fumbled with his breeches. Aurora had been married, had seen a man naked, and still felt oddly shy at the brush of his erection against her thigh.

She reached down between them with one hand, curling her fingers around his length. He stilled against her, and Aurora could feel the powerful muscles of his shoulders tense, as she tentatively touched him. He was slick, and an odd combination of softness and hardness.

“Let’s not cut this party prematurely,” he muttered, nudging himself against her palm, shaking off her grip.

“Please.” It burned down in her gullet, to hear the plea in her voice, but it was too late to stop now. She needed the release he promised her, needed those wild, tangled dark needs that burned like a promise in his eyes. “ _Please_.”

She helped guide him to her entrance, and then eased both arms back around his neck as he slowly pressed into her. He was wide, thick, and her mouth twisted at the sharp bite of pain. It had been so long, so long since she had—no, _no_. She couldn’t think about Phillip. Not now. Not like this.

“Stay with me.” He captured her mouth against, tongue plunging passed her teeth like he wanted to swallow her. “Stay with me, Aurora.”

Another cautious nudge, her knees pressed to his sides, and then he was fully sheathed. She cried out against his mouth, clawing at his back, as his began to move. It was a startling counterpoint to who he was, feeling his carefulness, the gentle way he rocked his hips as if afraid of hurting her. She didn’t want him to be gentle, didn’t want this to be anything more than a hasty rut in a garden.

“Harder.” She rolled her hips, pelvis bumping against him. He cursed lowly, planting his palms on the glass on either side of her stomach. “ _Faster_.”

He slipped out of her nearly to the tip and slammed back in. She had to bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming as he did it again, and again, in and out. She felt whittled down to the spot where she met him thrust for thrust, racing headlong for a completion she knew she should never allow him to give her.

He hooked an arm around her waist, dragging her flush against him, and reached down with his other hand. He plucked at her clit again, rolling the nub between his thumb and forefinger, nibbling at the underside of her jaw when she arched at the intense pleasure.

“Just a little more,” he urged, rubbing the heel of his palm against her mound. “Just a little more. Come for me, Aurora. _l'Aurore des sables_ , let me feel it. Let me feel you come.”

His voice was like rich, warm chocolate pouring over her, drowning her in sensation. She was heedless to anything but obey. She clenched around him, a wordless cry escaping her, as the coiled ball of pleasure embedded was abruptly released. White-hot pleasure ripped through her, stars bursting at the corners of her eyes, as she arched back against the cool glass, gulping in massive amounts of air.

She slid down his body, skirts still bunched at her waist. He slid out of her with a wet pop, turning them, so he was braced against the glass and she leaned against his chest. He caught her wrist and brought it down to curl around the thrumming heat of his erection. He showed her how to stroke him, rough quick strokes, slick with her juices, and panted above her head. He came against her head when she dragged her thumb at the slit at the top of his erection with a hiss, fingers digging into the sweat curls of her hair.

His hands remained tangled in her hair, pressing her face into the leather of his heaving chest. She inhaled the scent of sex and musk and male, curling her fingers into the thick leather of his outfit.

She felt his mouth moved against the damp top of her head. “When we tear down the walls of this city, when we come to conquer,” he murmured huskily against his hair, “Find me, Aurora. As quickly as you can. I will keep you safe.”

Not extinguish her, then, but lock her up in a gilded cage—a bird kept for his pleasure only. Her stomach roiled.

“What was your name,” she asked, tilting her head to look at him. “Before you were Death?”

He mouth slackened, as if shocked that she would ask. No one had asked him his name before, probably even before he had given himself over to the Darkness.

“Killian.” His voice sounded hoarse, as if from disuse. “My name was Killian.”

The surprise was all Aurora needed. She planted her hands on his shoulders, and shoved. The glass shouldn’t have broken, but somehow she knew it would. Perhaps it was her magic, perhaps it was her will, perhaps it was him. But the glass shattered, thousands and thousands of brilliant clear shards, slivers of glass slicing across her skin, and she watched him plummet down, down, down onto the cold street below.

It wouldn’t kill him, she knew. He was Death, after all. But she thought there had been a smile on his face as he had gone sailing out the open window, as if her actions had amused him, pleased him.

When the guards rushed into the room, weapons drawn, Aurora still stood in front of the shattered wall of glass, skirts fluttering around her feet, hair wind-torn and wild, and behind her delicate mask, her face dry.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this was supposed to have been written months ago for a friend's birthday  
> 2\. but have you ever noticed how actually thinking about once upon a time is akin to taking your soul and putting it through a blender  
> 3\. because it totally is  
> 4\. soul-crushing, this show  
> 5\. we could have had it all  
> 6\. hence this went through like fifty rewrites i don't even know what it is anymore? there are horsemen why are there horsemen i don't know you're guess is as good as mine  
> 7\. maybe i was using this as practice for a paranormal romance novel i will one day write  
> 8\. i'm not saying i am but i totally am  
> 9\. i don't even know  
> 10\. title is yanked from edgar allan poe's 'masque of the red death' for the obvious reasons


End file.
